My only inspiration
by TiCe
Summary: Our pennyless poet gets some inspiration. RR


Title: My only inspiration Author: Me..Eb Disclaimer: I own no characters from the Moulin Rouge. Nor do I own the song "Only Hope" preformed by Mandy Moore and/or Switchfoot. From the 'A Walk to Remember' soundtrack Rating: PG Summery: Inspiration hits and a song is sung. AN: I suggest you hear the song. By either artist up above. They are wonderful songs and you should most definitely suggest you see the movie. If you like Moulin Rouge you'll love a walk to remember. I'm not feeling very well and I typed this and wrote this today. So please send feedback.  
  
Spectacular Spectacular was practically writing itself, leaving Christian to himself. Satine was mostly preoccupied with keeping the Duke happy, when she could get away they spent all the time imagaginal together. It was one of those days that people write about. Blue skies, no clouds, birds singing, children laughing, the begging on the streets was a minimum as Christian crossed the way to Moulin. As he passed through the doors, the doorman, Radcliff, greeted him with a cheerful "Hello, sir." With a nod and a smile, he heard the thud of the door being shut again. From there he entered the world of rehearsal. The nighttime girls were all dressed in their under-things, because of the heat sweltering in the hall. Zidler in an under shirt, suspenders, and slacks ran through dance moves with half the girls while Chocolat dressed in something similar worked with the other half intergrading his own steps. Satine and the Duke sat front and center. The Duke held on to her hand for what seemed to be dear life. Her fake smile in place, the 100-watt, almost all 32 teeth showing under bright red seductive lips. Some how Satine had managed to steal a look towards Christian. Her genuine smile taking over has she mouthed a 'hello' to him. He said it back silently only adding a small wave. She smiled yet again and blushed looking down a moment. They looked at each other a moment before Satine had to give her attention back towards the Duke. Christian's eyes lingered a moment longer on Satine then they should have. He thought about something for a minute while cocking his head to the side of head to the left. The words connected to the notes, and a song formed. He whispered it in his head as he walked towards the piano, where Satie was playing the song to the dance they were rehearsing. His hand bopped to the music in his head, orchestrating the music. Next thing he really knows is he's sitting next to Satie, the music stopped and the dancers and the orcrastra is all looking at him. He never really noticed. He grabbed a piece of parchment, and a pen and handed it to Satie. "Could you please, write this.I don't want this forgotten." Not really knowing what to say Satie nodded and moved out of Christian's way. The young poet scooted over to the center of the bench. He lifted his conducting hand to his face as he bit down on his thumbnail in concentration. "What is that damn bloody writer doing now?" The Duke asked frustrated. Satine rolled her eyes, lucky that the Duke didn't notice. It was obvious that her writer was struck with inspiration. She was jealous that several of the girls moved right up next to the piano, doing all but sitting right next to him. She'd give anything to sit right by his side, but the Duke griped her hand in such a fashion she had no choice but to settle back into her current chair. At least she got to hear her sitar player sing. Christian leaned forward then backward, all the while still biting his nail. A small habit of his from when he was a small child. Trying to remember the correct keying of each note. After 18 years of piano lessons almost a two months had wiped it all out, it amazed him. Moving his hat to the more back part of his head, he placed his hands on the keys and decided to let the music flow. Still un-aware of the audience he let the introduction of the song pass by quickly as he was lost in the truth, beauty and the freedom to do what he wanted when he wanted, for his love of art. The words came easily as he pictured his love, the beautiful diamond that was Satine.  
  
There's a song that's inside of my soul  
  
It's the one that I've tried to write over and over again I'm awake in the infinite cold But you sing to me over and over and over again So I lay my head back down And I lift my hands and pray To be only yours I pray To be only yours I know now You my Only Hope  
  
Sing to the song of the stars Of your galaxy dancing and laughing and laughing again When it feels my dreams are so far Sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again  
  
So I lay my head back down And I lift my hands and pray To be only yours I pray To be only yours I know now You my Only Hope  
  
I give you my destiny I'm giving you all of me I want your symphony Singing in all that I am, at the top of my lungs I'm giving it back  
  
So I lay my head back down And I lift my hands and pray To be only yours I pray To be only yours I pray To be only yours I know now you're My only hope.  
  
Mmmmm,mmmmm Ohhhhhhhhh  
  
He finished with the simple notes of the melody. He looked up a small smile on his face. Like a large load of work had been lifted from him. His eyes widened when he saw half the hall had been gathered around the small piano.  
  
"Sorry.." He grinned sheepishly, "Inspiration hit. Did you get all that?" He looked towards Satie, and he was furioushisly scribbling. "Every note." He trailed off still writing. "Wonderful! Amazing!.Spectacular!" Harold laughed, grinned and praised. He threw his arm around Christian when he stood up. He quickly led him from the admirers who wanted to give him praise. But of course Harry wanted to talk business of who and when would sing this miraculous new song. As Harold trailed on Christian turned his head to meet the eyes of the inspiration. She smiled and mouthed the words he longed to hear all the time 'I love you'. He smiled very large, and before he could whisper a response he was pulled behind the still-in-construction stage. "..what do you think?" Zidler was anxious. Christian was about to agree to whatever when he furrowed his brow in deep concentration. "What's the matter?" Harold asked, if the writer was sick there was no show, and there would be nothing, Zidler was started to panic. The poet's eyes that were focused on the ground slowly, and confusingly made there way up to Zidler's. "I.don't remember the words.huh..the muse is gone." With a 'oh well' shrug he went back towards the rehearsal area.  
  
  
  
The end.  
  
R/R, please! 


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